


The Sherlock Club

by chappysmom



Series: The Sherlock Holmes Club [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if all the different variations of Sherlock Holmes got together once a month for a meeting?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sherlock Club: My Watson

The Holmes club came to order, each gentleman greeting the other with almost a sense of camaraderie. When Canon!Holmes had first thought of the idea, they all wondered why they had never thought of a group meeting before. It would be refreshing to be able to talk to someone who could truly understand the difficulties of having such a massive intellect, at deducing a person's life story in a glance.

After all, who would understand better than Sherlock Holmes?

And so they gathered monthly to exchange stories and to enjoy the relaxing atmosphere of being among truly level intellects, without the tiresomeness of dealing with slow, plodding, ordinary people. It was better, they all agreed, than talking with Mycroft. His chatter about politics grew so boring.

Instead, they shared case files and marveled at how each of them had solved similar mysteries. They compared acquaintances they had in common and wondered there, too, at how very different they were. Discussions on Lestrade alone could go for hours, since the relationship was so different for each of them.

One thing they all agreed on, though, was that Dr. John Watson was incomparable.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without Watson, now that he's married." RDJ!Holmes said one night. The others nodded sympathetically.

"I confess I missed him terribly," said Canon!Holmes. "I was fortunate enough that my practice was established and there was sufficient ... distraction ... but nevertheless, I missed him around the flat."

"Wait," Cumberbatch!Holmes said. "MARRIED? When did this happen?"

"After he met Mary Morstan, of course. Have you not come across her yet? The Sign of Four?"

"No, no. He dated Sarah for a while, and there were several others, but I can't keep them straight. He's never implied that he wanted to get married, though! He's my flatmate, after all, and seems satisfied with that. Why would he go anywhere?"

Granada!Holmes leaned forward. "That's what normal men do, Cumberbatch. Exemplary though he may be, Watson is still an ordinary  
man. Don't worry, he'll be back. He never stays away for long."

Cumberbatch!Holmes huffed back in his chair. "It's still not right. How would I manage without my blogger?"

"Blogger?" It was almost amusing to see such a variety of blank looks on a set of faces that usually knew everything. Cumberbatch!Holmes  
shrugged. "It's a 21st century thing. An electronic journal on the internet where he tries to write up the cases for others to read. Very  
badly, I might add."

"Ah." Granada!Holmes nodded. "Watson does have a weakness for telling stories."

"I think he believes it's flattering, dear chap," said Canon!Holmes, "He wants to let people know how extraordinary he finds our observational skills."

"Perhaps, but I confess I wish he would stick to the facts instead of sensationalizing the cases for the reading public."

Murmurs of agreement. "John tried to tell me that his blog was the way my clients were finding me, that they weren't bothering to read my website, or didn't care about my finely researched article on the 243 types of tobacco ash."

Canon!Holmes smiled at their youngest member. "Don't forget, my dear fellow, that one of Watson's greatest attributes has always been as an interpreter for the normal man. He filters the information in such a way that the average Englishman can understand it, and if that understanding is faulty, well ... Watson comprehends better than most."

"Do you think so?" Rathbone!Holmes asked. "I always thought ... well ... I value the chap dearly, and there's no-one I'd rather have with me in a scrap, but isn't he a bit ... dim? Well-meaning, of course, and loyal, but..."

"Are you saying your Watson is stupid? Because mine is refreshingly bright," protested RDJ!Holmes. "Not as intelligent as I, of course, but quite impressive, all things considered."

"Mine seems to have more going on in his funny little brain than most, too." Cumberbatch!Holmes put in, but it was too late. Rathbone!Holmes was on his feet. "Are you saying I am WRONG?" he thundered at RDJ!Holmes.

RDJ!Holmes was on his feet now, fists raised. "I did not say that at all. I said that MY Watson was intelligent."

Granada!Holmes was on his feet now, too. "Gentlemen, there's no need to get excited." But Rathbone!Holmes had already lashed out, crying "I know Baritsu!"

Cumberbatch!Holmes lazily said, "Oh please, there's no such thing," and just raised an eyebrow when he got a "you're not helping" glare from Canon!Holmes.

Meanwhile, Caine!Holmes piped up from the corner, "I think Watson is quite the most brilliant chap I've ever met in my life. It's wonderful what he can do."

Distracted, they all turned to glare at him. "What is he even DOING here. He was just an actor," protested Rathbone!Holmes.

Granada!Holmes shrugged and nudged the indignant man with his elbow. "But he is Sherlock Holmes—of a sort. We really can't keep him out. Be kind to the poor fellow."

Tension ebbing from the room, (nobody noticed the smug look on Caine!Holmes’s face), they all resumed their seats. After a few moments and a chance for everyone to sip their drinks, RDJ!Holmes said, "Do you really find Watson dull? My Watson is never dull, and he’s the best man I could ask for in a fight."

Canon!Holmes agreed. "Indeed, having Watson at one's back does make one feel secure. He may not pick up the details of a case, but he's absolutely loyal and I find that invaluable."

More nods of agreement. Cumberbatch!Holmes said, "Mine's unusually bright, I think. He doesn't observe as carefully as he should, but he has a knack for insight which I have actually found useful. He's much easier to talk to than most ordinary people."

"That is because," said Granada!Holmes, "Watson is never ordinary."

"No, but he seems to understand ordinary so well." Granada!Holmes tipped his head back, considering.

"I find I seem to irritate ordinary people much less when he's around," mused Cumberbatch!Holmes. "He never fails to let me know when I've said something particularly rude, or something. It seems utterly unimportant, yet, I find ordinary people much less obstructive when they're not walking around all indignant with raised hackles like a dog."

"Well, Watson always had a thing for dogs," chuckled Canon!Holmes. "I remember the bull pup he had when he moved in."

Reminiscent chuckles from around the room while Cumberbatch!Holmes looked flummoxed. "A dog? He had a DOG? Thank God mine didn't. Though the thought of him following the thing around with a bag is fairly amusing." At the blank looks from the others, he just waved a hand. "Never mind. It's not important. He makes good tea, though."

“Watson makes TEA?” Rathbone!Holmes said with a sneer. “That hardly seems appropriate.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to do it,” protested Cumberbatch!Holmes. “And I’m definitely not doing the shopping.”

The others exchanged blank looks for a moment before deciding to ignore this most perplexing member. All they were sure of was that the 21st century seemed an exceedingly odd place, though there were times that RDJ!Holmes envied the apparent comfort of the clothing. No cravats or hats to be seen, apparently.

Finally, Canon!Holmes raised his glass. "To Dr. John Watson. The best friend, most loyal companion, and best friend a man could have--in any version."

The others all stood and raised their own glasses in salute before drinking a toast to their best friend.

After they had sat for a time sipping their drinks, puffing on their pipes, Granada!Holmes said, "Mine has the best mustache, though."


	2. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sherlocks discuss nicotine.

After everyone was settled and the drinks were poured, they brought out their pipes. "Not for me," said the newest. "I have a patch. It's impossible to maintain a smoking habit in London these days."

The only reaction was a series of raised eyebrows. "I don't know how you can think without the beneficial effects of nicotine," sniffed one.

"That's what the patch is for." Cumberbatch!Holmes pulled up his sleeve to show an odd flesh-colored circle on his arm. "It provides nicotine directly to the blood stream, without the negative effects of the smoke. It's bad for the lungs, they tell me.. This is better for breathing, apparently."

"Ah, breathing. Breathing's boring."

"Exactly what I think." Cumberbatch!Holmes flounced into a chair and sat watching the others with their pipes with a trace of envy.

Canon!Holmes chuckled. "I can see by your pupils and the twitch to your fingers that you're not satisfied with this patch device. Ingenious idea, though. Watson would be intrigued."

There was a muted rumble of agreement. "Watson is always looking for ways to break the most harmless of habits," Granada said in his distinctive, blaring voice, "But he has never shown much curiosity in medical advances."

RDJ agreed. "Not unless it can be used in the field. Watson isn't much for sitting and reading medical journals. I am curious with the concept, though. Can this patch device put other medications into one's system, I wonder? It certainly seems much more portable than a syringe and not as obvious to Watson's meddling eye..."

"The opium derivatives aren't exactly available at the corner drugstore. They're illegal, you know. Not that I let that stop me."

Shock all around the room. "No seven-percent solution? No smoking? My dear boy, however do you manage?"

Cumberbatch!Holmes smiled. "I do have one means of distraction you lot don't. It's called the internet."


	3. The Watson Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearing about the Sherlocks' monthly meeting, the Watsons decide to get together, too.

When they heard that the Sherlocks were gathering for monthly meetings, the Watsons decided to do the same. Nobody else, they reasoned, could possibly understand the unique set of challenges to keeping up with Sherlock Holmes.

Accordingly, they all gathered in the wood-paneled room at Canon!Watson’s club and settled back carefully into their seats.

“I must say,” said Granada!Watson, “It’s a relief to sit down. He had me canvassing the streets all day long. Pass me that footstool, would you?”

“Of course.” Canon!Watson nudged it over with his cane. “I have a bit of a headache, myself. I was going over case notes all day while the light was good. I find as I get older that gas light isn’t quite enough for my eyes.”

Bruce!Watson giggled. “Well, you ARE the oldest of all of us.”

“Thank you SO much,” said Canon!Watson, turning away with a slight shake of his head.

Freeman!Watson rubbed his shoulder. “Really, we should thank you, Canon. If you hadn’t started writing these cases down, none of the rest of us would be here.”

“I wish you’d made us taller, though,” muttered Bruce!Watson asCanon!Watson rolled his eyes.

A muffled "Hmph," came from the corner where Kingsley!Watson sat behind his newspaper. He hated coming to these meetings.

 

Law!Watson shifted in his chair, wincing. “Though on days like these, I almost wish you hadn’t. I’m still sore from that explosion.”

Bruce!Watson said, “At least you weren’t slogging through the mud for hours last night.”

“No, and you weren’t running across rooftops, were you?” snapped Freeman!Watson. “Or strapped into a semtex vest?” At the blank looks from the others, he added, “A bomb vest, meant to explode and take the wearer and everyone else with it.”

“What a horrible device!” Granada!Watson exclaimed. “An invention of Moriarty’s?”

“Sadly, no. They’re all too common among terrorists these days.” He took a sip of his whiskey, suppressing a shudder. “And I’d really rather not talk about Jim, if you don’t mind.”

“An exploding vest,” mused Canon!Watson. “I wonder if I could work that into a story?”

Freeman!Watson eyed him wryly. “Only if you want to open yourself up to more accusations of sensationalism from Mr. I’m Just a Machine Great Detective. Believe me, the bad guys don’t need any ideas. They come up with enough of their own.”

Nods all around as they lounged in their chairs, stretching out aching limbs and enjoying a chance to sit and relax without chemical fumes or violin playing to distract them.

“I don’t think I’ve had a chance to relax in weeks,” murmured Canon!Watson contentedly.

“This chair is just what my aching back needed.”

“My shoulder is killing me.”

"It's my leg that's hurting tonight."

“I hope he lets me get a full night’s sleep tonight.”

“And a meal. I swear I never get a chance to eat, anymore.” A round of chuckles from around the room.

“Thank providence for Mrs. Hudson’s cooking.”

Freeman!Watson sighed a little. “I always envy you boys, having a housekeeper. I need to remember to pick up milk on the way home.” He looked up at the glazed looks. “Just, never mind. It’s a 21st century thing.”

They all sat for a while longer, not saying a word, and then Canon!Watson raised his glass. “To Sherlock Holmes. The best man and the best friend. I wouldn’t want to follow anyone else.”

From around the room came a thumping of canes.


	4. The Moriarty Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then, of course, all the Moriartys decided to get together, too.

Glancing back over their shoulders, they slunk into the room, ignoring each other as they poured hefty drinks into crystal before sitting in a loose circle.

Silence reigned for a time, and then Scott!Moriarty said, “I can’t believe it didn’t WORK! My plan was brilliant. Fool-proof! So, how did that fool figure it out?”

“He always does.”

“But, HOW? It’s not like he’s smarter, and he won’t even go to the same lengths as I will. So how does he WIN?” He turned to glare at Canon!Moriarty. “This is all your fault.”

“Mine? But I barely even exist. I was discreet. Retiring. Nobody ever even heard of me before Reichenbach.” (Mass shudders around the room.) “Sorry. But it’s not like I was going out of my way to be noticed. Not like you idiots.”

“Say that again, and I’ll skin you,” Scott!Moriarty said, “I don’t care if you’re the original or not. So far as I’m concerned, you’re the worst of the lot.”

“Oh, really? I worked in the background for years and nobody ever noticed. The rest of you fools have done everything short of announcing yourself to the entire world … oh wait,” he added snidely. “I suppose you’ve done that too. And what good has it done you? You drew HIS wrath down upon you and, he’s the hero. Of course he’s going to win.”

Silence.

“So, I repeat. You’re all idiots. Don’t blame me for your own shortcomings.”

“We can’t help it. We’re just written that way.”


	5. The Christmas Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the holidays, the Sherlocks and Watsons decide to throw a party for their friends and enemies.

For Christmas, the Canon originals decided to go all out and throw a party for all the characters. The mingling alone would provide fascinating behaviors to study, after all, and Canon!Watson was looking forward to the chance to see some of the ladies. So the invitations were sent out and a hall was rented.

At first, as might be expected, the guests all stood in awkward groups. The Sherlocks and Watsons paired off first, beginning the evening like married couples, with their familiar satellite characters nearby. As the evening passed, though, the groups began to morph.

First, the variations stuck together. The Sherlocks gravitated toward each other, as did the Watsons, and so on. They were used to seeing each other at their regular meetings, and none of them liked to miss a chance for some new gossip or shop talk.

Things got interesting, though, when, after the liquor had been flowing, the true mingling began.

Many of the characters had not seen the other counterparts before. Each Holmes might know his own Watson like the back of his hand, but to see so many other Watsons—each of them truly John Watson, yet … subtly different. The possibilities for scientific experimentation became almost impossible to resist. Suddenly, each Sherlock wanted to talk to other Watsons, new Watsons, to grill them with questions and judge the responses. They wanted to plumb the depths to see exactly how similar each one was to what he considered to be the quintessential Watson. (His own.)

Same with the Watsons. Each secretly wondered if the others had an easier Holmes to deal with. If he might be tidier around the flat. If he was a little less rude. Even if the others played the violin as well as HIS Holmes.

In fact, within a very short time, the Canon pair were thinking they should have limited this gathering to just the Holmes and Watsons. The possibilities were endlessly educational and intriguing.

Except … they had invited everyone else, too.

The Lestrades were particularly difficult. They were stubbornly insisting that they were right about, well, everything. And since there were so many variations in personality among them, they were difficult. One Lestrade insisted on picking fights with every Sherlock he came across, never believing a thing anyone said. One walked around the room and shook his head every time he saw signs of cocaine use. Most of them had the sad, beaten look of a spaniel who wants to please but can’t quite figure out how. Graves!Lestrade andJeavons!Lestrade spent most of their evening chatting together.

The Mrs. Hudsons were in their element, tearing around the room sweeping up crumbs and filling glasses. Despite all the reminders that they were guests, they just couldn’t help themselves. (Though there was the occasional, “Not that I’m a housekeeper, mind!” from the back of the room, which always made the BBC lot crack up in private laughter.)

John Watson’s wives and lady friends—over two dozen in all—were whispering and giggling in the corner over a little too much wine. Every time a peal of laughter rang out over the room, all the Watsons shoulders ducked around red ears.

All the Mycrofts, of course, stayed home. Coming to a party was too much like legwork, he said.

Various detectives and policemen lurked near the doorway, suspiciously watching all the criminals strung around the room. All of them looked like they really weren’t sure why they had been invited at all, but were just glad of a chance for a square meal. They did bring the tone of the party down quite a bit.

But the real problem were the Moriartys. Canon!Moriarty may have been self-effacing as a survival tactic, but none of the others had ever learned that lesson, and so they swanned about the party, boasting and bragging about their cleverness, and how they were going to bring down Sherlock Holmes.

At first, when shushed by Mrs. Hudson, and reminded it was a party, they would quiet down with an embarrassed nod of the head. It was Christmas, after all, but the longer the evening got and the lower the level in the decanters became … well, it was only a matter of time.

First, one dove into the corner with all the Mrs. Watsons and began kissing as many as he could. All the Watsons naturally ran to defend them, but one of the other Moriartys stopped one of them right in the middle of the room with a punch to the face.. (Moriarty, as much as he obsesses over Sherlock, always seems to have a weakness for attacking Watson.) While they were rolling on the floor, another Moriarty pointed a gun at Mrs. Hudson, to gasps from everyone at such outré behavior.

And then things really got bad. Moriartys, one with a ridiculous paper crown on his head, were shouting bomb threats and waving guns. The thieves were all trying to slink out with silverware stuffed in their pockets. Their were melees all over the room until finally the manager came in and told them all they were making too much of a fuss and the other guests were starting to complain.

Silence reigned for a few moments and then the Moriartys all left in with a bold swagger. “This party is lame, anyway,” said one of them as they went through the door.

Behind them, all the Sherlocks and Watsons stood in the middle of the now-empty room.

“All in all, that went better than I would have thought," said Canon!Holmes. "Much less boring than usual.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Castiron](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiron) for the beta read!


End file.
